


Character Windows #2 - Morrigan at Thirteen

by BrennaCeDria



Series: The Hero, The Champion, The Revolutionary [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrennaCeDria/pseuds/BrennaCeDria





	Character Windows #2 - Morrigan at Thirteen

_Written from a prompt to look at different characters at different ages; this specific one was for Morrigan at age thirteen. As always, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox._

* * *

"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever. But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak but takes delight in the Maker's law and creations; she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."

Morrigan rolled her eyes in disgust as the priestess continued her sermon. She'd come to this village's Chantry in hopes of gaining access to its library—had even stolen suitable clothing from an empty farmhouse on the outskirts so she'd not be mistaken for some Chasind child and run off by the villagers. Instead, she'd been ushered to a pew immediately upon entering and had been stuck here listening to old women prattle on about her absent god.

_If I'd wanted to listen to a senile old woman's babble, I would have stayed home with Mother today._  Still, it wasn't all bad. She'd nicked some sweet bread from the same home as her new dress; it'd been months since the last time she'd had any and it was just as good as she'd remembered. And eventually, the sermon  _would_  be over, and she would be free to visit the library afterward.

Not that her Mother didn't have books she could read, of course; but in the years since Flemeth had taught her to read, Morrigan had probably read every book her mother permitted her access to at least fifteen to twenty times—each. She needed new stories. It didn't matter if she found history books or folk tales. To Morrigan, the two were much the same. She just wanted something she hadn't read before, and there was no hope of that in the Wilds.

After what felt an eternity, the priestess gave her final blessing upon the gathered villagers and the congregation began to disband. Some few villagers remained, talking amongst themselves, and Morrigan approached the nearest Sister with what she hoped was an innocent, earnest expression on her face.

"'Scuse me, ma'am? My mama said if I finished all my chores early I could read stories this afternoon." She dropped her gaze, and toyed with her skirts. "I'ven't got any books of my own no more, though—I dropped 'em in the creek last time I was reading 'em. I thought maybe I could read some of the books here, if that was okay? I won't take 'em out the library here, so they won't be getting dropped in the creek like my books did, if you'd let me?"

Mumbling something about being careful with the tomes, the Sister pointed Morrigan in the direction of the library and continued about her business. Morrigan grinned and all but ran in the direction of the library, climbing and hopping over pews as she went, and threw open the door. It wasn't an especially large room, but shelves lined every wall and reached to the ceiling.

Browsing the shelves, Morrigan let her fingertips brush gently across the spines of each book. One title in particular caught her eye,  _Witches of the Wilds_ , and with a smirk she pulled the tome down and settled into a chair near the hearth. The first part of the tale rang true enough to the story her mother had fed her for as long as she could remember—the dispute between the bann of Highever and the poet Osen over Flemeth's hand turned backwards, but the rest seemed more or less correct.

Something about it bothered her, though, and after marking her place she closed the book again to study its cover.  _Witches of the Wilds_. It wasn't the first time the phrased had cropped up in her visits to one village or another. Always the word 'witches' and never the word 'witch' when references to Flemeth were made. Morrigan thought it doubtful that any of the authors of such stories knew of her as well as her mother, so then who else?

Casting a glance back at the library's door, she set the book aside and climbed up the shelf nearest the window. Seeing no one outside, she opened the latch and scurried back down to her chair. With one quick heft the book was over and out. No one would miss one volume out of so many. All that was left now was to retrieve her new treasure—and to make certain her mother couldn't confiscate it from her the moment she returned home.


End file.
